The Evil And The Pure (47 page)

“You think the Bush will do business with them?” Fast Eddie asked.

Big Sandy shrugged. “That’s his decision, not mine.” He covered the head with the bag and dug out his mobile. Told a groggy Dave Bushinsky the news. The Bush snapped out of grogginess fast, first incredulous, then uncertain. Said he’d be right over and not to do anything until he arrived.

“What about the
hounds?” Fast Eddie asked when Big Sandy hung up. “If the guy who dropped off the head was McCaskey, we could set them on his trail.”

Big Sandy thought about it. “No. He probably drove. Even if it was McCaskey and he came on foot, they might have more of that powder
that Phials used on the other hounds. Best not to chance it. They’re thinking straight right now. Later they might panic, make mistakes. That’s when we’ll hit them with the hounds.”

Big Sandy looked over the note again. Fast Eddie read it beside him. “I hope the Bush doesn’t cut a deal with the fuckers,” he muttered sourly. “I want to be there when those sons of bitches are taken out.” He rubbed the back of his head where he’d been sapped during the break-out.

“We’ll play it like the Bush tells us,” Big Sandy grunted, turning his back on the severed head and retracing his steps through the maze.

“Of course,” Fast Eddie said, hurrying after him. “But if he decides to pay them off and settle for the formula…” Bothered by the thought that he might be cheated of revenge.

Big Sandy paused, thought about Clint Smith, how he’d screwed the Bush and cost him the chance to buy control of Spurs. He smiled reassuringly at Fast Eddie. “I don’t think that will happen.”

“
– fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh –”

Clint staring blankly at the kitchen table,
Oh fuck!
riffing, as distraught as he’d ever been, wanting to get sick, unable to force up any vomit. Gawl sitting smugly close by. He’d told Clint about the murder. Took him to see the body when Clint didn’t believe him. Guided the stunned dealer to the kitchen afterwards, sat with him, waiting for Clint’s thoughts to clear.

“– fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh…”

Blinking, shaking his head, hoping this was a dream, that he could jolt himself awake. Staring at Gawl, his sneering smile. No dream. Phials dead. Fifty million dollars cut off at the neck. America dumped in black plastic bags beneath the stairs. Shula forever beyond his reach. Cousin Dave, the grand executioner, waiting in the wings to swoop down upon them.

“You buh-buh-
bastard,” Clint moaned. “You mad fuh-fucking bastard. You’ve ruined us.”

“I’ve saved us,” Gawl smirked.

“Dave will kuh-kuh-kill us. He knows we’re in London. You slaughtered the one buh-bargaining chip we had. We’re fucked.”

“He has to find us first,” Gawl disagreed. “And Phi
als was never a bargaining chip, he was a fuck-us-over waiting t’ happen. And like I said, I got the formula from him before I finished him off.”

“How do you know it’s ruh-real?” Clint snapped.

“I’m gambling that it is.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Gawl shrugged. “Then ye’re right, we’re fucked.”

Clint laughed hysterically.
“We’re fucked anyway. They’ll track us down and kuh-kill us and…” He stopped. Frowned. “Where did you leave the head?”

“The lab.”

“How’d you take it there?”

“I walked.”

“What about the hounds?”

“I took them into consideration. I bused it some of the way there and back.”

“Some of the way?” Clint snapped. “What if that wasn’t enough?”

“It will be,
” Gawl grunted, then sat forward. “D’ ye see that what I did was for the best?”

“
Bollocks,” Clint retorted. “
The best
would have been to stick to the pluh-plan and smuggle Phials out.
The best
would have been to sell the fuh-formula for millions of dollars and –”

“That was never go
nna happen,” Gawl interrupted. “Too much could have gone wrong. We were too inexperienced. Too dumb.”

“I’m not dumb,
” Clint protested.

“Ye are,” Gawl laughed. “But don’t
get the hump. I’m dumb too. We were smart enough t’ bust Phials out, but not t’ follow through, not unless we do it this way.” Gawl grabbed Clint’s hands, held them tight. “We have the formula. The Bush has the money t’ pay for it. We sell it t’ him for a million each – pounds, not dollars – and hit for Ibiza or Lanzarote, live stylish, live loud —
live!
”

“But I want New York,” Clint groaned.

Gawl sighed. It was like talking to a child. “OK,” he said. “Ye can take yer half and fuck off t’ New York. A million will take ye a long way there. And ye’ll have infamy on yer side too.”

Clint blinked.
“What are you talking about?”

“The Bush will manufacture and market
Baby P. He’ll be a legend. Ye can get in on some of that, publicise yerself up as the man who gave the world Baby P. Get yer story in early, before the shit hits the market, so people know ye’re genuine. Ye’ll have money and a reputation.” He let go of Clint and beamed. “If that doesn’t get ye up and running in the States, what fucking will?”

Clint dwelt on that
a while. Still seething about the way Gawl had acted without consulting him, but forcing himself to focus on the positives. A million pounds
was
a shit-load of money, and he
could
talk up his involvement with the new drug set to sweep the world. Still in a good position to hit the ground running, make powerful alliances, then make a play for the heart of Shula Schimmel.

“What if Dave
tuh-tells us to go fuck ourselves?” Clint asked.

“He’s a businessman. Money comes first. He’ll deal.”

Clint was unconvinced. “How are we going to approach him? Phone?”

Gawl shook his head. “He might be able t’ pinpoint our position.”

“It takes a few minutes to do that, doesn’t it?”

“Technology these days
…” Gawl sniffed. “Who fucking knows? We can’t risk it.”

“How then? Send Kevin or Fr Sebastian?”

“No. The Bush would squeeze our whereabouts out of them. One of us has t’ go.” Clint started to object loudly. Gawl silenced him with a gesture. “It’ll be me.”

“You’re
vuh-volunteering?” Clint was surprised.

“He hates me less than you,” Gawl chuckled. “Plus I won’t start stuttering like a fucking retard if I get nervous.”

“What about the formula? You’ll luh-leave it with me?”

“Will I fuck,
” Gawl snorted. “I’ve hidden it, and it stays hidden till the time comes t’ hand it over.”

“And how will we do that?”

“Once they give us the money, I’ll tell ’em where it is.”

Clint choked on a laugh. “It doesn’t work tha
t way. They’ll want a trade-off, the money in exchange for the formula, a handover. Assuming you can convince them to accept the formula unseen and untested, without knowing if it works.”

Gawl thought about that and nodded.
“So what d’ ye suggest?”

“We
use the Tuh-Tynes or Fr Sebastian,” Clint said. “Give the formula to one of them, have them at the meeting place but not standing with us. Once we get the cash, we walk and they step forward to hand over the formula.”

Gawl
considered that. “It can’t be Fr Seb. We’ll need t’ stay here after the deal, get our shit sorted. Can’t let them know we’re in league with him.”

“Kevin,
then.”

“
What if they take him captive? They’d torture him and he’d tell ’em where we are. We’d have t’ go on the run.”

“
Tulip?”

“
They’d do the same t’ her.”

“
Maybe not. Don’t forget that Shula was raped recently. She was the same sort of age as Tulip. Dave might shy away from hurting a girl.”

Gawl
almost laughed out loud at that, but Clint would get shirty if he thought the Scot was making fun of his beloved. Would get a whole lot more than shirty if he knew that Gawl was laughing because he was the one who’d raped her. “There’s no guarantee the Bush would see things that way,” he said instead. “It’s dangerous involving them, more factors t’ calculate.”

“
It’s still the best way,” Clint insisted. “Worse case, if they doublecross us, they’ll kill Tulip, not you or me. At least we’ll have a chance to get away. And we’ll have the money. We can use it to buy our way out of trouble.”

“
Thats true,” Gawl grunted. “Ye’re starting to talk me round.”

“
Of course there’s no guarantee that Dave will duh-duh-deal with us in the first place,” Clint added, doubts returning.

“He will,” Gawl said confidently. “
It makes no sense for him not t’. Now, let’s talk about where we want this t’ go down and how we break it t’ the Tynes and what safe measures we can take. I want everything laid out nice and clear before I go visit the Bush and put my life on the fucking line.”

Kevin told her she had to have an abortion. She refused. He reasoned. He pleaded. He threatened. Tulip refused. Life was sacred, a gift from God. If he tried to make her kill the baby growing inside her, she’d finish with him, run away, leave him to rot. It didn’t matter that the child could be the offspring of any of the men she’d been having sex with, that the father was one of any number of sick, twisted paedophiles. This new life was hers to safeguard and she would not destroy it.

“What if it’s Fr Sebastian’s?” Kevin moaned. “What if it’s McCaskey’s?”

“I was pregnant before he had sex with me,” Tulip replied. “I’m not sure how far advanced I am, but I think a couple of months at least.”

“How did it happen?” Kevin crie
d. “We took so many precautions.”

Tulip shrugged.
“Condoms split. The pill isn’t foolproof. Spermicides don’t always work.” She smiled through her tears. “Where God wishes to create life, he always find a way.”

“This isn’t the work
of God,” Kevin snarled. “It’s an abomination.”

“No,” Tulip said calmly. “It’s a child.
My
child. And I’m keeping it.”

That was her line and she stuck to it. Kevin spent the rest of the night trying to wear her down, but she rejected all his arguments. She fell asleep fully dressed, face stained with tears, rosary beads clutched between her small pale fingers. Kevin sat beside her, unable to sleep, tormented.
With no choice, he reluctantly accepted Tulip’s decision and assessed where that left them.

Their tentative escape plan would have to be
reworked. No way they could go to the police now. They’d find out Tulip was pregnant. Questions and examinations. They might worm the truth out of Tulip — in her state, there was no knowing what she might say. Jail for Kevin. Separation. Tulip would have a child of her own, grow up, turn her back on him.

If they escaped and didn’t go to the police? Same problems as before – nowhere to go and no way for him to sup
port Tulip – only more emphatic, since now he’d have two to hide, house, clothe and feed.

Frowning
as he lingered on that thought. Two to support, a wife and child, the perfect family. Half-smiling in the gloom, imagining himself and Tulip with a child, rearing it, watching it grow. Picturing Tulip with a baby. She’d be a good mother, protective, understanding and…

Trembling at a terrible flash
—
the baby could be my hold over her.
A secret they’d have to share. Tulip would need him to help bring up the baby. She might be able to muddle by on her own if she left him, but rearing a child would be hard. She’d
need
him. And if her loathing proved stronger than her need, he could use the baby against her. Threaten to report her to the authorities if she left him. They’d take the child away from her if they found out the full story, brand her an unfit mother. He could use her love for the baby against her, just as he’d used her love for him against her.

Running with the idea, excited, sensing new opportunities,
playing with wicked thoughts. If the child was a girl he could watch her grow and mature, maybe mould her to his own warped desires as he’d moulded Tulip, ultimately replace Tulip with her. Sick thoughts. He cursed himself for thinking them as soon as they formed, but he didn’t stop. Scheming in the dark, gazing at Tulip, at her stomach, figuring blasphemously,
Maybe this
is
a gift from God.

Coming back
to the impossibility of escape. On the run, pursued by McCaskey and Dave Bushinsky, unable to work without attracting attention, unable to support Tulip and her child. But if they didn’t run, McCaskey and Clint would strike their deal and clear out, kill Kevin and Tulip or leave them for Bushinsky. Damned either way. Unless…

Cold in the dark,
but sweating as a crazy thought struck.
Unless I can cut myself in for a share of the profits.

Clint knocked on their door early, before eight, asked them to come to the study. Kevin said they’d be down in ten minutes. Faced Tulip when they were alone. “I’ve decided. We’ll keep the baby.” Tulip stared at him uncertainly, then broke into a grin, relieved that she wouldn’t have to argue any more. She leant over to hug him. He pulled back. “Do you trust me?”

Instantly wary. “Why?”

“The baby changes everything. We can’t turn to the police now, not with you pregnant, too many questions, too many risks.”

“But –” she started to object.

“No,” he snapped. “We can’t have it both ways. This baby complicates matters and we have to deal with those complications.”

“What are you thinking?” Tulip asked suspiciously.

“We have to get in on the drugs deal. Make them include us in their plans. Take a cut of the money.”

“Are you insane?
” Tulip shrieked.

“It’s the only way.”

“What they’re doing is wrong. Drugs ruin lives and destroy people, and this one is the worst ever. I know what it’s like to be in that addictive grip. There’s no way I’m going to –”

“This isn’t the time to get moralistic,” Kevin
snarled. “If we get out of this mess alive, we’ll have to lie low for a long time. I won’t be able to work. You won’t be able to draw child benefits. How do you plan to look after the baby?”